Wandering A Higher Trail
Weaving Work I
In contemplation
I remember this often
Such a strange dream.
___*___
Where am I?
‘A weaving room at work.’
My Muse and I drift in the Gray Lands' expanse
Three Mind States beckon
Each with Trails to tread
Subtly entwined
Each a facet of Consciousness.
Naming the trio
Some philosophies divine them
With each, uniquely, it’s own realm...
Living, Imagining, and Dreaming.
Borders soft, like blending hues
All roused to varying degrees
Effecting threads at different moments
In the warp and weft of Time.
More, or less…
At, and in, different times
In, and at different junctures
All dependent on Space, Place, and of course… Time
Framed to serve Purpose
Birthed by consciousness’s curiosity.
___*___
They turned at a small gasp
The Weaver of Time had missed a few stitches
Awakening her from drowsing drifting, to wide awake.
‘Oh dear, I must begin again’, she murmured
Undo all the drowsy mistakes I made.’
Quickly through Time
She leaped, and jumping around
Back to forth, to back again
Made quick work, righting the wrongs
Correcting the Eight to right again…
So she might return, pure, to Nine.
___*___
Yet within the tapestry
Confusion reigned.
The past dimmed
Refused to shine as before
Accusations hurling at the weaver
Accusing her of selfishness
For withholding all the earned rhymes.
Yet what could they do
Against the threads' wanderings
New arrivals disrupting their schemes
Some bringing the Sun
Changing shades, scattering broken pieces across the land.
And, as old events straightened
Some evil intents that before, had risen to rule...
Finding themselves now defeated...
Sent back, deposited on assorted spools to heal
While a grateful Peace settled across common fields.
___*___
‘Don’t fret’..., said Time Weaver
Listening to their cries.
‘In time you’ll come again
For the future bears your names…
Remember, all threads made, have meaning plain
To help complete this grand game.’
My Muse looked at me
‘Of course, you know with Humankind
Consciousness threads through gender
Man and Wombed-Man
Within the Grand Eight of Things,’
She smiled softly...
‘Quite the Trail then you’ve chosen.’
Laughing, the Time Weaver looked on
Her ancient eyes beaming...
‘Just don’t forget
Remember to laugh…’
She winked…
‘The rest is easy’.
Turning to the tapestry
She laid down her shuttle
Then, gazing at her dream guests
Soft sigh escaping, she continued...
‘When this work ends
And this loom rests…
All will marvel at the masterpiece
This, the finest, yes this, the best.
Hang it will, in the King’s own halls
A testament, blessing Man…’
She looked back at the still to be finished work.
‘Yes, from wombed man to newborn
Acting, creating...
Meeting partners, birthing anew
All contributing to this final beauty
A sight few human eyes will cease wondering at.
Though remember...
Tapestry’s are not just for human eyes…
All Life plays a part.
Seeing true, threads know not Weaver’s true intent
They simply play their part as the shuttle slams down.
As such then, they are laid, to final rest
To only feel, as played by minds, hearts, and souls, singing their parts.’
___*___
‘Look’, she continued
‘See here, even now, how this story has risen to show
Time's gentle touch.
A work of balance, beauty, so purely strong
A tribute to Balance’s plans.’
‘But, what of us…?’
The now stored threads overhearing
Did suddenly howl...
‘How can we even begin to see
Much less find... our place?’
‘Well, think well on this…’, said Time Weaver
Looking at them in their storage places.
‘You are now... the past
Yet awaiting a brighter future, yet soon to be.’
Her brows tightened as she added…
‘Of course, we have to do a little more work’.
And so, she concluded for the day
Dimming the lights for rest
As fewer stars twinkled in the night’s embrace.
____*___
Only Night Dreamers pondered the absence, the missing
While the rest… slumbered.
Threads conspiring in the darkness
Bitter plans of treachery
No longer worrying about the light.
‘Wait until we show up’… one quietly muttered
'We'll shine all right'.
Copyright ©
Brian Rusch
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